


heaven help a fool who falls in love.

by frostfall



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Diners, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dave is only mentioned, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 22:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12757812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostfall/pseuds/frostfall
Summary: In which Brad reaches a whole new level of unreasonableness, Chester is just doing his job (and maybe flirts way more than he should), and Mike just wants to know all about Chester’s tattoos while unintentionally acting like an idiot in the process.(Or Mike Shinoda's ordinary week gets turned upside down no thanks to people like his moody best friend, said moody best friend's ex, and the new guy on the block who makes the greatest pies and who Mike tragically can't string a proper sentence around for more than a couple of minutes.)





	1. i. monday

**Author's Note:**

> First multi-chaptered story. Was deciding on making a one-shot but ended up splitting them into chapters. Hope this turns out okay. Also, title comes from "Ophelia" by The Lumineers.

 

 

 

 

 

It’s a new week. Which means it’s Brad’s turn to grab coffee.

So that leaves Mike to reorganize and restock, which is fine by him to be frank. Sure, he has to wake up way earlier than he should, haul out sealed boxes of books, and sort through all of their collection. It’s hard work but hey, at least it beats waiting in line at the shitty Starbucks around the corner that for some reason Brad likes. Their coffee is the crappiest around.

But at least they have good chai lattes, which is what Mike always gets every time Brad makes a coffee run.

He’s debating whether if the any of the _Dragon Age_ novels should belong in the “Fantasy” or “Gaming” section when he hears the familiar call bell ring.

It should be Brad. No customer has come in this early, let alone on a Monday. Though it’s strange that Brad’s already here. Usually he’ll only be in later within the hour.

But there is none of Brad’s typical “Shinoda!” and Brad never rings the bell to call his attention so Mike figures it isn’t his best friend back with their drinks.

“I’m coming!” he calls, dropping the books back into the box at his feet before weaving through the ocean of cardboard to make it to the front.

The man at the door is most definitely not Brad. Instead of a head of bushy curls and thick facial hair, it’s a man with a cropped mane and smooth face, adorned with the most colorful tattoos on his bare arms. He clutches a paper bag in one hand, rubbing the back of his neck with the other. He glances around the store, looking oddly nervous.

The artist in Mike is tempted to get a closer look at the tattoos but he manages to bury his curiosity to clear his throat. The man jumps suddenly, as if startled.

Just what he needed, to scare the potential customer. Great way to start the day.

“Um, sorry about scaring you,” Mike offers. “Can I help you?”

“Oh um,” the man pulls out a crumpled note from his jeans’ pocket. “Are you Brad Delson?”

Mike shakes his head. “Brad isn’t here yet.”

“Oh okay.” The man holds out the paper bag in his direction. Mike catches the whiff of citrus and sugar. “Could you give this to him?”

Mike cocks an eyebrow but takes it nevertheless. “Um, yeah. Sure.” He almost peers inside but doesn’t out of respect to his best friend’s privacy. Hopefully it’s not something illegal like drugs or something. If it is, then….

As if reading his mind, the man points out, “It’s lemon meringue pie.” He gestures to the door. “My friends and I own the diner at the end of this block. We just opened recently and well, we figured it’ll be good to promote our stuff by giving out free samples.”

But that doesn’t explain this man knowing Brad by name but Mike supposes one of the many store owners around the area might have mentioned it to him.

“Thanks,” Mike says, leaving the bag on the counter. And for some weird reason, he doesn’t budge.

And neither does the other guy so both of them stand there looking at everywhere but at the other for the next couple of minutes.

Suddenly, Pie Guy clears his throat, breaking the awkwardness. “Um, I better go.”

Mike nods his head vigorously, eager to get out of the uncomfortable situation. Which is weird because he likes to think that he could weave himself out of a conversation without the awkwardness. “Uh yeah, sure,” he rambles and almost veers his head against the nearest wall. “And good luck with the...uh...diner!”

Thank god Brad isn’t here to see him floundering like a dying fish. He wouldn't hear the end of it.

The man is already at the door when Mike wishes him well and a small smile crosses his lips. “Thanks,” he says and then suddenly he’s gone, with the only trace of his presence being the sweet aroma of pie and strangely nicotine.

And all Mike could do is slowly turn on his heel, returning to the back to finish the job he was doing before he was so rudely interrupted.

Brad comes in a minute later with drinks in hands and a wide grin. Happiness is an odd expression on Brad on Mondays but Mike takes what he gets.

“What’s that?” Brad asks, gesturing to the sagging paper bag next to the cash register.

Mike thinks about mentioning the fact that Brad was addressed by name but holds his tongue. “Free sample from the new diner down the block.”

If Brad possesses any knowledge of knowing about Pie Guy or the latest establishment, he doesn’t show or mention it. Instead, he exclaims at the sheer luck of free food and Mike decides to not pursue or think about the subject further.

They end up splitting the pie during lunch break. Despite the fact that it’s no longer warm, it’s probably one of the best things Mike has ever tasted in his life.

 

 

 

 

 


	2. ii. tuesday

 

 

 

 

 

Mike is busy trying to calm the middle aged woman’s hysterical rants when Pie Guy from the diner shows up again.

Normally, Mike’s shift isn't at this hour on Tuesdays. He only works on every weekday morning until lunch except Tuesdays.

But Rob had called in sick the very last minute so Mike had to forgo his coffee to make it to work on time.

It's already bad enough that he isn't a morning person. And now he has to deal with an unreasonable and obtuse customer.

At eight thirty in the fucking morning.

“How can you not have _Fifty Shades Darker_?!” she cries out and Mike winces at Pie Guy’s startled expression. “It’s so popular! Every bookstore should have it!”

Why, oh, _why_ did Rob have to call in sick today?

He almost points out the blackboard outside that actually says “ _No books that condone abusive behavior sold. Includes “public favourites"_ Fifty Shades Trilogy _and_ The Twilight Saga.  _Full list inside!_ ” but he holds his tongue and politely offers, “Well, there’s a Barnes and Noble at the mall. They probably have them there.”

Instead of that appeasing the woman, she scoffs and jeers, “Don’t you think it’ll be good to actually take a leaf out of their book? Then maybe you’d actually be making as much money as them.”

Ouch.

But two can play the game.

“Well,” Mike retorts, making sure he has his sweetest smile on. “Here, we don’t sell books on abusive behavior for the sake of making money. So you could say that while we may be poorer financially, at least we’re still rich in dignity.”

Watching the rosy colour fade from the woman’s cheeks is satisfying itself but hearing the man’s loud snickers from the door feels much more sweeter. The woman shoots him a glare and a deadlier one at Mike before storming out, shoving the figure at the door along the way out.

Mike sighs heavily as the door swings shut. Finally, some respite before the next hellraiser enters his life. Pinching his nose and shutting his eyelids, he’s praying that in the next several years he doesn’t turn out to be just like her when he hears a voice interrupt his thoughts.

“Jeez, does that happen often?”

Oh right. He forgot about Pie Guy at the door.

Today, he swaps a tank top for a polo shirt. Despite the presence of sleeves, it doesn’t hide those eye catching tattoos that encircle his lower arms. But that’s the least of his worries because his twinkling chocolate orbs are holding Mike’s attention. It’s funny how such a dull color could captivate him as much as the work of art on skin.

Mike sighs, rubbing his temples. “Believe it or not, yeah.”

“Damn, I don’t think I could actually take shit like that every day.”

“It doesn’t. But it happens way too often than I would like.”

The man makes a face, stepping closer. “I know what you mean. Before we moved here, I always get pestered about recipes and changing out flavours and shit. It fucking pissed me off.”

Mike snickers. “I know right? Like people come in all the time asking for stuff like that and like ‘dude, didn’t you read the sign outside?’”

They share a few laughs. Mike’s glad that the awkwardness from yesterday has dissipated. He doesn’t know if he could take himself mumbling like a hormonal teenager any longer.

“Anyway,” Pie Guy begins, handing over another paper bag. This time, the scent of potatoes and lamb wafts through the air. “Here. It’s Shepherd’s Pie.”

Mike gives his thanks but can’t help but ask, “You’re still giving out free samples?”

The man shrugs. “Something like that.”

His answer leaves much to be desired but Mike decides not to push. Besides, he hardly knows the guy. For all you know, he just wants to make friends.

“That’s very generous of you.”

Pie Guy shuffles his feet on the spot. “Well, my boss is that kind of guy I guess.”

“No way in fucking hell he is.”

A wild Brad suddenly appears, stomping straight for Pie Guy, who in turn is slowly stepping back. Mike internally groans. Of all the times for Brad to throw a fit, it’ll be right now.

Oh how he hates being Brad Delson’s best friend sometimes.

“Brad,” Mike begins, slipping between the two.  “Whatever your prob–”

His aforementioned friend jabs his finger on his chest. Mike has never seen Brad this worked out in a long while. His hair looks more like a bird’s nest than usual and his cheeks are probably darker than the deepest shade of blood.

“Shinoda,” he growls. “I swear if you don’t move your fucking ass out of the way, you’re getting your wages docked.”

Instead of doing what Brad says, Mike brushes the finger against his chest away and crosses his own arms, rooted to the ground. “Could you at least tell me why you wanna pummel him?”

“I don’t wanna pummel him. I wanna pummel his boss.”

Wait, what?

Mike blinks, confusion slowly setting in. “Um, what?”

Brad doesn’t provide any more explanation, just puffing out his chest proudly. What looks like an establishment of dominance makes him just look like a skinny featherless penguin, which is not a pretty sight. “Yeah, just like I said. I was having a conversation with Dave–”

“Dave?”

“From the electronic store down the road,” Brad clarifies impatiently. “Dude, we get drinks with him every second Saturday night. How the fuck can you forget?”

Before Mike could defend himself with the classic “too early in the morning” bullshit, Brad continues, “So anyway, I tell him about the free sample yesterday thinking, ‘boy, isn't it awesome that we’re getting free food?’ But guess _what_?”

Frankly, Mike isn’t in the mood to guess so he clamps his mouth shut, hardening his aloof stare while Brad’s glower deepens.

“Are you guys always this pissy to each other?” Pie Guy restlessly questions from behind them. Mike’s surprise he hasn’t ran out screaming for help yet. Most usually cower under Brad’s infamous glares. “Or is this some weird form of flirtation you guys do? ‘Cause I’m sensing some unresolved sexual tension going on.”

The revulsion that sets in Mike’s stomach hasn’t settled in when Brad scrunches up his expression and says, “Ew, that’s disgusting.”

“Hey, fuck y–”

“Long story short,” Brad intervenes. “Our lovely delivery man here is a big fat _liar_. There are no free samples!  So I'm like, ‘the fuck’re you talking about?’ And Dave shakes his head and tells me he didn't get any but he met the owner of the diner yesterday. Tells me he’s funny. Called him a ‘cool guy’. I ask Dave the dude’s name and you won't _believe_ the name he said.”

Mike is about to open his mouth for a _fucking explanation and stop beating around the bush because why can’t things ever be simple_ , when Pie Guy cuts in. “My boss is his ex,” he explains. “But it’s not like he was stalking your friend or anything. I mean, we always meant to move out here. We met Dave the day before yesterday and he was telling us about all of the owners around the block. Then, he mentioned Brad and long story short, I got asked to deliver pie here. Like a peace offering, an apology.”

Boss? Ex? Peace offering?

What the _fuck_?

It's too much to take in. But seriously, what the fuck is this shit? Mike always figured this kind of coincidences and drama happens on TV.

But here he is, in a reality where cliche tropes are randomly thrown his way.

In all seriousness, Mike could not comprehend a single person in this world could actually trigger such a violent reaction from Brad.

Okay, well there are some people he really hates but an ex?

While Brad Delson has his moments, well _many_ moments, his anger has never reached such heights before. Ever. So who the hell–

Suddenly a hazy face conjures up in Mike’s brain. He's seen the face in the torn Polaroids that littered the scratched floorboards years ago.

And everything falls into place.

Of _course_. Of all the people–

“Peace offering?!” Brad roars, snapping Mike out of his reverie. “That asshole wouldn’t know what a peace offering is even if it bit him in the ass!”

Oh for  _fuck’s_ sake.

“Okay, Brad!” Mike loudly declares, trying to ignore the ringing in his ears no thanks to Brad’s booming voice. He steps around, making sure his body is properly shielding Pie Guy. “Don’t take it out on him! It’s not his fault. He was just doing what his boss told him to do. He has nothing to do with Joe or whatever, _okay_?”

For a long moment, Mike is afraid that Brad might disregard him and go in for the kill for once, especially now that he fucked up and said _his_ name out loud. But then Brad’s shoulders sag in defeat and he storms into their office, slamming the door behind him.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Mike turns to address the man behind him. Surprisingly, he still seems unfazed by the random encounter.

What a miracle.

As if he read his mind, Pie Guy muses aloud, “Kinda expected it to happen. Better late than never.”

Mike inhales deeply. “I am _so_ sorry. My friend is an idiot who can’t grow up and let go of grudges. That was really uncalled for.”

Pie Guy waves his hand in dismissal. “S’alright. Like I said, I kinda expected it. In fact, I should be the one thanking you for saving my ass.”  
  
Mike shakes his head. “Hey, you didn’t deserve all that. It doesn’t make it right.”

“Dude, it’s  _fine_ ,” Pie Guy brushes off, moving towards the door. “The thought’s sweet but don’t worry about it.”

And just like the day before, he’s gone and all Mike could do about the whole fiasco is hope Pie Guy is okay and that he needs to attend to his best friend pronto.

“Don’t give me that look, Shinoda,” Brad snaps as soon as he steps into his best friend’s office, a tiny little room that resembles more of a janitor’s closet. When they got the place, Brad deemed it fit that they created some space for some “privacy”. Mike always wondered if there was ever any meaning behind the statement.

Sometimes there are things he doesn't want to know.

The cursed paper bag sits on the creaky desk, silently taunting Mike with its presence. He doesn’t remember it being taken from his hands at all.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Brad sulkily starts.

“Oh? Do tell,” Mike sneers, before instantly regretting it. He doesn’t need to make things worse.

Then again...

“You’re going to tell me how stupid this whole thing is–”

“Which it is.”

“It is not!”

Mike sighs, exasperated. “Dude, it's been like, fifteen years.”

“ _Sixteen_ years, Shinoda.”

“That’s worse.”

“The point  _is_ ,” Brad hisses, hardening his glare as he props his legs on his desk. Mike is tempted to haul them off. “That bastard broke my heart and I'm not ready to accept any pathetic apology he gives. What? He thinks _pie_ could actually solve all the shit I went through?”

“Brad-”

“Pie, Mike! Fucking _pie_!”

In that very moment, Mike wouldn't mind quitting his job to be a garbage collector just to get away from Brad’s childish whines. Which is a sentiment he always felt every time Brad gets into these kind of moods.

Maybe if he's in a better mood, he'd be more sympathetic. But all he could think of is how unbelievable the whole ordeal is.

“Look, you could be the mature one and reach out and–”

“No way in fucking hell–”

“ _Brad_ – ”

The shrill ring of the call bell interrupts his words. Mike has never been so relieved and annoyed to attend to a customer.

“We’re not finished here,” he promises, moving towards the door.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

By the time Mike returns, all that’s left in the bag are crumbs.

“Motherfucker.”

“Hey, it’s a perfectly good waste of pie if I don’t eat it. Even if it was from the devil himself.”

“You could’ve given it to me.”

“It’s mine, Shinoda. Get your own fucking pie.”

 

 

 

 

 


	3. iii. wednesday

 

 

 

 

 

Usually, drawing provides Mike with a wonderful distraction from all the shit going on in his life. The feel of the rough paper, the smooth lines conjured by his pencil, the effortless flow of his hand. It brings out the little child in him, the very same one that marvelled at stick figures decades ago.

Art has always been his go-to catharsis, his passion and soul. In a way, it’s his “happy place”. Art makes him feel at peace, at home.

That’s why he’s thankful he could do what he loves while having a somewhat steady income, despite the weird scenarios and conversations he ends up having on said steady job. It may be tiring juggling his bookshop duties and graphic designing (his other less stable job), but he doesn’t know where he’ll be without his art.

But today, he can’t seem to unlock the door to his happy place because all he could think about is Brad and that stupid ex of his.

He's never met Joe but Mike fully knows well all of the details of Brad’s passionate love affair with the man that spanned throughout their college years.

And obviously, the end result of it.

Hell, he was there to help pick up the pieces, listened to his best friend blubber between tears and drinks, stopped him from trying to throw every single object made out of glass against the wall.

He’s known Brad Delson since they were in middle school, watched him fall in and out of love. But nobody as fucked him over like Joseph Hahn did.

It took a while for Brad to truly recover from the heartbreak. And Mike hopes he would never go through something like that again.

“Again?!”

Mike jerks up, making a random squiggly line over the forest he’s been sketching for the past half an hour.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, erasing the mistake. It's a good thing he hasn't shaded the whole thing yet.

“Sorry dude,” comes a sympathetic-tinged reply. While muffled, Mike knows it’s definitely Pie Guy outside the door. “You gotta do what you gotta do.”

“Can I pay you double the worth of the pie?” Brad inquires desperately. “You can eat it or throw it in the trashcan or whatever.”

A soft laugh softly rings. It’s fleeting and Mike almost wishes he could capture it in his memory. He closes the sketchbook on the desk and gets to his feet, eager to hear more.

“Dude, I wouldn’t throw my own babies out.”

Mike twists the doorknob, slowing pushing the door forward. Brad’s back faces Mike, his frame behind the counter. Pie Guy stands across him, playing with what looks like the lint on his T-shirt. Today, his glasses are absent. Mike assumes he’s wearing contacts. Which is quite a shame.

“Anyway,” Pie Guy continues. “Joe told me he’d  _triple_ my salary if I told him you'd do that.”

“Then, don't tell him!”

“Dude,” Mike chirps, stepping out of the shadows. “You're his boss’ ex. Joe’s his boss.”

“And friend,” Pie Guy corrects.

“ _And_ friend. You’re nobody. Now take all this into account and tell me what makes you think he'll actually side with you?”

“Hey,” Brad says defensively. “Everybody’s desperate for cash, man.”

Pie Guy snorts. “You know, you could actually go up to Joe and tell him to stop.”

“Dude, it’s Joseph fucking Hahn. When does he ever take anything seriously?”

“Maybe if you actually tell him the whole gesture is making you feel uncomfortable, he’d back off. Sure he can be a dick but he wouldn’t harass people further if they actually give him a concrete response.”

“I know!”

For a moment, everybody is silent. Brad is staring at the ground, looking bewildered for a moment. Suddenly it dawns to Mike that Brad is the biggest hypocrite in the whole fucking world. Maybe even Brad himself sees it too.

“Bradford Phillip Delson, you fucking dick,” Mike blurts out. “You’re still hung up on him.”

It makes more sense now that the words finally leaves his lips; not giving up the pie, not wanting to tell Joe to fuck off. Even the memories of his younger years becomes crystal clear – the ranting, the drinking, the yelling.

Well, maybe not the latter part. After all, Joe ended it all on the very day he was to leave to study abroad in South Korea. Right before his flight to be exact. Without any explanation whatsoever, leaving Brad rightfully furious.

Maybe not overly dramatic. But angry? Yeah sure.

But the point is, the flame never went out, even after all those years of heartbreak. And Mike doesn’t know whether that’s a good thing or not.

Immediately, Brad colours. If looks could kill, Mike would’ve been reduced to ashes.

“Well, I know Joe is still hung up on you,” Pie Guy chimes in, breaking the tension. “Every time you’re brought up, he’s always talking about you like you’re some unattainable star in the sky or some fucking sappy shit like that. ‘The One Who Got Away’. He rolls his eyes at that. “And this is even _before_ we moved here.”

Abruptly, Brad’s expression perks up, his scowl slipping off his face. He looks like a kid who just found out he won a year’s supply of chocolate. “H-he does?”

Bingo.

“Yeah,” Pie Guy continues smoothly. “I mean, he’s actually asking me to bake more pie than usual just for you. So either he still has it bad for you or he has the worst case of guilt known to mankind.”

“Wait,” Mike interjects, too transfixed on a certain sentence. “ _You_ baked all of the pies? Yourself?

Hopefully Pie Guy doesn’t take that outburst as an insult or something negative because that’s not Mike means at all. In fact, Mike’s impressed. He doesn’t really know why but he feels a swell of admiration inside of him.

Guess he is aptly “Pie Guy” after all.

Thankfully, Mike receives a wide grin. “Yeah, I’m the resident baker at the diner. And one of the servers but that’s not important. I know this is gonna sound narcissistic of me but I’ve been _dying_ to ask what do you think of them.”

If he has to be honest, Mike would say practically out of this world, the best thing he’s ever tasted. The flavours swirling and clashing in his mouth could have elicit an orgasm in him if it could do so.

But that would be weird to say, wouldn’t it?

Brad’s howling laughter brings him back to reality. Judging by his prick of a best friend acting like an demented hyena and the blush spreading across Pie Guy’s cheeks, Mike must have said it all.

Out loud.

Without realizing it.

Uh...wait...I...uh…I didn’t mean–” He stops, feeling a blazing heat spreading across his whole face. “Hey, what did you say your name was?”

He almost facepalms himself into oblivion because seriously, sure he thought of knowing his name so he can finally stop calling him “Pie Guy” and that’s the only reason, _fuck_. But he figured he’d ask him like a normal person instead of using it as a random topic changer.

In all his years, Mike never pegged himself to be such a ditz or a stammering mess. He may not be close to a social butterfly, but he’s always been able to articulate without looking like an idiot, his head clear.

So why is he feeling like mush right now?

All in all, Mike really needs a new brain. And a bucket of iced water. And maybe a new identity so he can run off to Japan and live in exile for the rest of his life.

Strangely, enough, the smile on Pie Guy’s face hasn’t left his lips. “Did anybody ever tell you how adorable you look when you blush?”

Sirens start ringing in Mike’s brain. He swears the heat his cheeks are radiating is probably over boiling point.

“Uh…”

Brad’s laugh becomes more boisterous. Mike makes a mental note of slapping him upside the head later.

“I didn't,” the man says, crossing his arms. The gesture gives Mike a good look at those intricate tattoos he can’t seem to get enough of but the set of warm chocolate orbs staring back at him holds his attention instead. “But it's Chester.”

Chester, huh. Mike tries to rack his brain for any literary character with that particular name. The only ones he could think of is that bratty and self-centred cat in a children’s book and the 6’6 sixth-grader from the _Big Nate_ comics. And they're both assholes.

Which this guy is totally not. At all.

Wait, what is the point of his observation?

“You’re trying to compare me with fictional characters. Nice to know you don’t think I’m an asshole like them.”

Mike cringes. Did he actually just say that out loud too?

“I… I’m usually not like this,” he defends. “I...uh…well…”

Kill.

Him.

Now.

“Anyway,” Brad says, finally composing himself. “Mike here is an idiot, especially around really attractive people. So don't let that be a turnoff for you.”

Before Mike decides to launch himself at his best friend, Chester chortles. “Oh don't worry about that, a guy like…Mike, you said? Yeah, a guy like Mike is way too hot to be a turnoff.”

If Mike was in the middle of drinking, he would’ve spat it all out. Instead, his body resorts to choking on his saliva.

Brad buries his face in his hands. “I’m going to pretend I didn't hear that.”  

Another snicker escapes Chester’s lips as he moves towards the door. “As much as I would love to continue this conversation, I gotta go. My shift starts soon.” He turns to address Brad. “Do you want me to send Joe a message or something?”

Mike expects Brad to transform back to the Hulk and maybe even chuck something (he predicts the snow globe next to the cash register) but all he does is shake his head. “Nah, I...I think I need to think about it all.” He mumbles something that sounds like “devil of an ex” under his breath but Mike isn’t sure.

“Sure, take your time,” Chester says. “Expect another delivery tomorrow though.”

“Wouldn’t expect otherwise.” Brad pauses. “And I’m sorry. For acting like a fucking asshole to you yesterday.”

“It’s cool, man. I might have the same reaction if I was in your shoes.” Chester gestures to the paper bag in Brad’s grasp, as he moves to the door. “It’s blueberry.”

Brad wrinkles his nose, peering into the bag. “It better be sweet. I hate sour blueberries.”

“Don't worry about it, I guarantee they're sweet.” Chester flashes Mike a wink. “Just like your friend here.”

Mike swears that whoever that sees him right now probably thinks he looks like a tomato.

“You need to work on your game, Shinoda,” Brad points out as soon as Chester’s figure disappears from view.  
  
“Fuck off, Delson.”

 

 

 

 

 


	4. iv. thursday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. I've been busy over the past weeks and only managed to find time to actually write and post something now. I don't know when I'll have the time to post the next chapter but trust me, it is coming! Anyway, I would like to take the time to actually thank everybody who has read and give kudos to this. Hopefully you guys would like this chapter too.

 

 

 

 

 

“The last book you recommended me was  _really_ good,” the girl in front of him gushes as she rushes up to the counter. Mike must have looked confused because she adds, “Um, _The Thief_? By Megan Whalen Turner?”

Oh right, now he remembers. The girl had stopped by last week, asking for “a good fantasy book without any shitty romance in it”. She’s definitely one of the more interesting customers he had, given how candid she was. She wasn’t afraid to openly declare her distaste for _The Twilight Saga_ to another customer who was wearing a “Team Edward” T-shirt. Though prying the two apart took all of Brad, Rob, and Mike to do. And then she proceeded to congratulate for his integrity. Or something like that.

Take that, _Fifty Shades of Grey_ fanatic that pulled a fit on Tuesday. 

He guesses the teenager in front of him is a high school student based on the thick textbook spelling out _Myer’s Psychology for AP_ tuck under her arm and by the T-shirt she’s wearing. He’s not familiar with the “Hyenas” but he’s pretty sure it’s represents some high school’s mascot. “It’s probably the best fantasy book I’ve read since Narnia,” she continues, burying a hand in her small afro absentmindedly. “ And I read that when I was like eight.”

Despite how determined he feels to stay grumpy (in his defense, he’s been waking up at six in the morning for the last four days in a row and not to mention, his mind has been filled with… things), Mike can’t help but let a warm smile cross his face. It’s little moments like this that makes rising early and dealing with cranky and insensitive customers worth it. Because there’s the more open-minded and friendly ones that he wouldn’t mind going off topic with. He’s always proud of being the source of somebody’s joy, especially a stranger.

“Glad you like it,” he beams. Another thought crossed his mind. “Say, aren’t you supposed to be in school today?”

The girl shrugs before reaching around to grab her backpack. “Somebody messed with the fire alarm,” she explains as she slips her textbook into the bag. “But the official story is that some idiot fucked up their chemistry experiment. But anyway, alarm went out, total chaos, and long story short, the principal let us go.”

“Let you go at…” Mike sneaks a glance at his watch. “8.51 am?”

“Technically, it was 8.39 am but yeah, sure.”

Mike chuckles, flipping through the list of book reservations. He feels a little more energized already. “Well at least you have the whole day off.”

“Yeah, true. But I gotta start on like two essays so _that’ll_ be fun.”

He can’t help but let a laugh escape his lips. He always had a soft spot for sarcasm.

“Well if it makes you feel better, there’s a sequel to _The Thief_ if you want.” He pauses. “Just putting it up there.”

The girl raises an eyebrow but the twinkle in her eyes displays her enthusiasm. “Are you trying to manipulate me to buy your stuff after listening to my sob story?”

Mike breaks into a wide smile. “Now, why would I do that? After all, you’re here for a reason, right? And that’s to buy books.”

“Touché, old man, touché. Now, about that sequel...”

He playfully rolls his eyes. “Well, there’s four other books so far. You’ll probably like the rest. But I highly recommend the sequel though. It’s probably the best in the series.”

The girl grins, immediately scampering away to the Young Adult section before Mike could tell her the titles. Well, he supposes that if she wanted help looking for it, she could always find him.

Turning back to the list, Mike picks the red pen up again to cross out more titles. The girl had provided a good distraction from the stupid thoughts in his head. Like Brad. Like Joe.

Like Pie Guy.

Before he could uncap the pen, and actually try to push out all those stupid thoughts from his brain, he hears someone clear their throat.

“Uh, hey there,” Mike begins, focusing his attention on the person before him. Well, there goes his day. Again. “Did you just come in?”

Pie– No, _Chester_ smirks. There’s a grey beanie resting on his head today. Oddly enough, the beanie and glasses combination makes him look more attractive than usual.

Not that Mike finds him attractive at all. Okay, like maybe aesthetically pleasing, like how a person would be to the Mona Lisa or some random painting. But not like attractive in a I’d-fuck-you kind of way.

Yeah.

“Hey yourself. And no, I came in when you were with that girl just now.”

Warmth spreads across Mike’s cheeks. That meant Chester heard all of the stupid stuff that came out of his mouth.

Somebody save him.

“Oh, sorry for not noticing you earlier."

Chester shakes his head. “Nah. If you did, I wouldn’t get the opportunity to hear you laugh. You have a really nice laugh, by the way.”

His flush deepens. He really needs to stop blushing over every single compliment Chester gives him. By the rate he’s going at, he’s going to combust soon. “Uh….”

The heavily-tattooed man’s smile starts to diminish. Mike is frantic to make it reappear. “Oh, am I making you uncomfortable? Sorry about that, I’m always flirty with people. I can stop and–”

“No!” Mike exclaims, maybe a little too loudly. “I’m just...uh...really flattered.”

Chester chuckles. “I’m glad. I don’t want to put you in an awkward position.”

“You’re not.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Several seconds of comfortable silence settles in, with neither making a move to do anything. Mike turns back to the list, his mind reeling. So if Chester is a flirty person by nature, does that mean he’s not interested in Mike at all? Does Chester actually find him hot, or was that just banter?

The teenager returns with a spring in her step, book in hand. Mike rings the purchase, sending the girl off with a “have a great day”.

Usually customers would throw the greeting back at him or ignore it, but the girl just sends him a wide smirk and a wink before exiting the store.

What is that all about? Did she sense something weird between Chester and him? Did she hear his stupid shriek just now.

Mike inwardly groans. Holy mother of–

“You read young adult fiction?” Chester asks, sounding genuinely curious and fortunately not judgmental. “Never pinned you for a fan of it.”

Mike shrugs, slipping the reservation list back into its drawer. He’s never going to get anything done at this point, especially with the smell of freshly baked goods and nicotine fusing together. “I like a lot of genres. _The Queen’s Thief_ series is really good for a young adult series.”

“What about poetry?”

Mike’s eyebrows knit. Poetry isn't really his thing. Taking AP English Literature made sure to vanquish any positive feelings he ever had for them. The only ones he read on his own accord and truly like are the old _tanka_ his father would read to him as a kid, and maybe some of the poetry Rob or Brad shoves down his throat occasionally.

It’s intriguing. Chester’s an intriguing man. He’s a heavily tattooed man who works at a diner as a server and a piemaker, who apparently has some form of interest in poetry. Stereotypically, facts like that don’t gel together to form the man in front of Mike.

He jots down a reminder to crack open some poetry books the next time he’s free. Maybe he could ask his coworkers for recommendations.

“I’ve read a few.”  

Chester gestures to the bookshelves around him. “So I guess if I want a recommendation, I come to you?”

“Well if you want. I’ve only read a fair few here and there. You're probably better off asking my other coworkers when they're around. They’ve read more on that than me.”

“Hmm.” Chester inches closer until their faces are only a few inches apart. Mike swears he could feel his heart going to burst any second now. There's a strange magnetic pull he feels, yanking him towards the man before him. He’s both thankful and mad for the counter being a barrier between the both of them.

“Well, I think your taste probably fits mine best so that’s fine and dandy. Maybe I’ll stop by the next time you’re in. Maybe early morning when nobody is around.”

Fuck. Me.

“You do that,” Mike rasps, hoping he doesn’t sound as breathless as he does to his ears.

For a moment, they don’t say a word, their eyes locked onto one another. Mike almost reaches for Chester’s shirt to close the gap between them when Chester pulls away, unceremoniously dumping another paper bag on the counter. “It’s peanut butter.”

What a _fucking_ tease. Mike almost lets out a strangled moan.

“You’re not allergic to peanuts, are you? Or Brad? Joe never tells me which pie to bring around so I just chose the flavours randomly.”

“Nah,” Mike says, trying to sound nonchalant, while willing his erratic pulse to relax. “He likes peanut butter cookies. So I'm sure you're good to go.”

“And before I forget.” Chester pulls out a crumpled folded piece of paper from his back pocket, slipping it across the counter. “This is for Brad. Which reminds me, where is he anyway?”

Like always, Mike is curious of the letter’s contents but doesn’t ask. “He has the lunch shift today. I'll give it to him know when he comes in.”

“Sure, no prob.” Chester sneaks a peek at his watch. “I’d love to keep talking with you, but duty calls.”

Mike’s heart sinks. He wishes he could hold a longer conversation with the man. Despite Mike’s stupid flailing, he enjoys Chester’s presence. It’s growing to be the highlight of his day. “Have a good day then.”

“You too.” Chester pauses. “You know, you should really stop by. I mean, don’t you want more of my “orgasmic” pie? You could actually have a whole slice all to yourself instead of sharing.”

Mike’s sure he's blushing again at soon as the “orgasmic” leaves Chester’s lips and, why does it sound so sinful coming out of his lips? "You could also bring two.”

“But that just makes it more unlikely of you ever dropping by.”

Mike’s heart skips a beat.

Dropping by. Chester actually thought he’d drop by.

Maybe he _does_ like him.

As if the weird moment they shared just now didn’t solidify that idea. But it doesn't matter, right?

Truth to be told, Mike has mulled over the idea of stopping by, to maybe exchange more than just several sentences with Chester. Heck, he’s passed by the diner several times before from and on his way home. But everytime he walks by, Chester’s never there. Probably not on-shift.

“I will,” Mike promises. Or lies because knowing him, he'd chicken out and hide in the nearest trash can. “It’s just that I’m pretty busy lately.”

“Well, I’m around every morning until noon. Seven days a week. So if you wanna get a glimpse of this attractive man here,” He gestures to his whole body. “Catch me then.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Chester flashes him one last grin before taking his leave. It’s a moment that Mike replays in his mind for the rest of the day.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“He’s asking me out,” Brad deadpans, skimming through the note later in the day. “Dinner tomorrow night.”

They’re in his office, along with their other high school friend and coworker Rob, who’s filled in of all the details of Brad’s weird drama of a life. Typical of Rob, he just calmly takes it all in without much of a word being uttered.

“Like a date?” Mike questions, finding the whole thing disorienting. Just two days ago, Brad was ready to rip into a new one at the mere mention of Joe. Now, it’s like somebody implanted a new persona in him.

“No!” Quieter, Brad mumbles out, “Fuck if I know. He wrote something about it being an apology or some shit like that.”

“Do you want to go though?” Rob asks, sounding concerned. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. You don’t owe him anything.”

Mike wholeheartedly agrees. As much as he wants Brad to be the mature one and close the book on a bad chapter in his life, Mike still rather have petty and immature Brad over broken and devastated Brad. No matter the stupid fights they share, he’s his best and longest friend at the end of the day.

At a glance, Brad’s eyebrows furrow as if deep in thought. He suddenly looks up, confidence radiating off him. “I know. But I want to. Maybe get some closure or something. It’ll be… good.”

“You sure?”

Brad meets Mike’s gaze. There’s a spark in Brad’s eye, not fueled by roaring blazes but a warm hearth. It’s an unusual but welcoming change.

“I’m sure.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tanka: A Japanese poem in five lines and thirty-one syllables, giving a complete picture of an event or mood.


	5. v. friday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fortunately, I'm less busy now so hopefully I can post a little bit more frequently!!! But maybe not anytime soon since it's festive season and all. Thank you all for your patience and of course, for reading this! :) This isn't my best chapter and there's less Mike/Chester but trust me when I say there's a lot more of them in the next chapter. ;)
> 
> Also, I know it's early and stuff but Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah for those celebrating and Happy Holidays to the rest!!!

 

 

 

 

 

It’s the middle of the night when Mike’s cell rings.

His eyes immediately fly open, his gaze trailing to the vibrating device on his bedside table Who in their right mind would actually call him, heck, _anybody_ this late?

Sure, Mike’s a light sleeper. But still. Sleep is sleep. Nobody should ever interrupt sleep. Ever. Unless they plan to die a painful death, then by all means.

The idea of burying his head under the covers or his pillow and ignoring the call sounds really tempting but a part of him tells him the caller won’t stop at nothing to get ahold of him.

Letting out a loud huff, he inches closer to his bedside table to grab his phone. He squints at the screen, his eyes finding it hard to adjust to the sudden exposure to harsh lighting. Mike can’t make out the caller ID without his glasses but whatever. If it’s some stupid telemarketer who thinks calling people up in the middle of the night/early morning is a _great_ idea, boy, does he have strong words for them.  

“What?” he snaps as soon as he picks up, a yawn escaping his lips in the process. He doubts it sounds as threatening as he hopes it’d be.

A familiar voice chirps. “You’re free Friday night, right?”

Mike frowns, his anger quickly replaced by confusion. How the hell does Brad sound like he drank three mugs of coffee? Knowing Brad, he probably did. “Um, I guess?”

“Good. You’re on stakeout duty.”

Mike feels his body stiffen. Wait, what?

“Stakeout? The fuck are you talking about?”

The incoherent mumbling from the other end, further irritates Mike. He rolls over his bed to lie on his stomach, phone pressed closer to his ear. “Are you high?”

“No!” Brad exclaims, sounding aghast and offended. “Why would you think that?”

“Well, for one you’re talking stupid shit that doesn’t make sense and two, you’re loud and ditzy one second and depressed the next.”

“Oh fuck off, Shinoda! I’m just...just…”

Mike heaves a heavy sigh. He was afraid this would happen, that Brad’s words wouldn’t translate into action. And unfortunately, he’s right.

“I thought you were sure.”

“I am sure.” Brad pauses. “Sort of.”

Mike inhales sharply. “Brad, you don’t have to do it if you’re not comfortable. Nothing wrong with backing off.”

“Well, _you_ were the one that said that I should’ve reached out to him.”

Wow, way to pin the blame on him. But Brad’s not wrong though. Maybe Mike didn’t really empathize with Brad enough. Maybe he never understood the situation and how much it affected him.

Some best friend he is.

“I know what I said,” Mike says wearily. “But it wasn’t a smart thing to say. It’s easier said and done, and I didn’t see it then. And I’m sorry for being an asshat then. But there’s no point going through with it if you think it’s just going to cause you distress. Remember that you always come first before any other guy.”

For a long moment, Brad doesn’t say a word. Mike’s about to hang up and actually get some goddamn sleep when he hears a soft murmur. “Yeah. I just…it’s been a while, you know?”

“I know.”

“Yeah. I think it’ll be good, you know? Closure. Because all this time, all I had is this anger and sadness and confusion in me and I never actually addressed it properly. And I think it’s time to do just that.” Mike catches the quiet choke coming from Brad and his heart breaks a little. He tend to forget that Bradford Delson breaks down too. And it sucks.

“And I just thought that you know, it’ll be comforting to know that my best friend would be there for me just in case it doesn’t go the way it should.”

It’s not often that Brad is reduced to tears and Mike wishes he could reach inside his phone and take him into his arms. As much as he infuriates him, Brad is still his best friend. And Mike never wants to see or hear any friend of his cry, especially his best friend.

“Hey,” Mike begins softly, turning over to lie on his back. “I’ll be there, don’t worry. You won’t be alone. If you want me there, I would go.”

Brad sniffs. “I’m sorry for being a douche.”

“And I’m sorry for not understanding enough. I shouldn’t have been dismissive about it.”

“Hey, you could make up by kicking Hahn’s ass if he says or does anything shitty later.”

In spite of himself, Mike barks out a laugh. It’s a thought that he frequently entertained over the years. Maybe he could actually do it for real this time. “Oh don’t worry. I’m jumping his ass if he even looks at you.”

Brad snickers. “I’d actually pay you to do that.”

A wide grin spreads across Mike’s face. “How much? Ten bucks?”

“Jeez, I’m not that big of an idiot. I know you can’t even properly kick a trash can without hurting yourself. Nah, a penny it is.”

Streams of laughter fills Mike’s ears. It goes on for some time.

“Hey,” he says, breaking the short silence as soon as the laughs die down. “I love you. You know that right?”

“Yeah, I know. Love you too.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Thankfully, Brad’s mood seemed to have improved when Mike gets to work.

In fact, it’s bizarrely different from before. Now, he’s blushing and giggling like a dork, staring down at his phone more often than he should. Mike suspects it’s Joe. Hell, he’s _sure_ it’s Joe because who else could reduce Brad into a pile of mush? He’s only seen it countless of times before, involving the same person.

Unless Brad has a new partner Mike doesn’t know. Then, well.

“Did you give Brad Joe’s number?” he half-heartedly demands as soon as Chester steps through the door frame. “‘Cause they’ve been texting each other non-stop now and it’s getting on my nerves. And they haven’t gone on that date of theirs yet.”  
  
“It’s not a date!” comes Brad’s holler from his office, muffled by the locked door.

“Call it whatever you want. It’s definitely a fucking date,” Mike calls back playfully, disregarding the few looks he gets from browsers. But most seem to ignore them. They’re probably regulars. Regulars seemed to have gotten used to the odd yell and loud banter the workers would trade every now and then.

“Fuck you, Shinoda!”

“Nope. Probably was in the letter,” Chester answers Mike, sounding light-hearted. “Joe won’t stop staring at his phone either. He still was even before I left.”

Mike smirks. “You see, Brad?!”

“Shut your pie hole!”

Chester snickers, lowering his voice. “It’s all really funny, given the circumstances a few days ago.”

Mike grins, feeling giddy like a kid on being let on the biggest secret in the world. There’s something about teasing a friend with somebody else. “I know right? And I’ve been there to witness the whole fiasco go down firsthand.”

Chester’s face twists into a look of flippant distaste. “I can't imagine being in your shoes,” his voice much louder. Mike figures it's on purpose. “I think I had my fair share of drama to last a lifetime from these past days.”

“Fuck you too!”

“Hey, no pie for you then! And it’s banana chocolate today! I heard it's your favourite!”

The office door flings wide open with a loud bang, jolting the nearest customer – a woman about their age. She sends a fuming Brad a dirty look before returning to her book. Mike has never seen her before this, though then again, it’s hard to keep track of faces in his line of work. He bets she wouldn’t turn up again, cheaper rates be damned.

“Don’t you dare,” Brad threatens, snatching the bag out of Chester’s hand before disappearing back into the office, the door slamming shut.

Mike rolls his eyes. If Brad wanted to actually show he isn’t flirting online, he should’ve checked his face in the mirror before making a cameo. He was grinning like a lunatic.

“Your friend’s weird, man.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Guess I’ll have to get used to it then.” Chester stretches his arms over his head, his shirt riding dangerously above his stomach for a split second. This gestures distracts Mike from asking what he meant by that, because _seriously is he actually going to keep coming around after tonight_?

Because if things turn out fine and dandy, would he even need to run by the store and deliver pie? But on the other end of the spectrum, Chester wouldn’t have any reason to come back if things would fall apart. Though Mike sees a similar scenario in each idea – ties would be severed and everybody goes their separate ways.

And maybe he’s making a big deal out of nothing because he could just walk into the diner and see Chester but what if Chester doesn’t want anything to do with him if things go south? He doesn’t have any reason to not side with Joe at all. And–

“Yo, Mike. You in there?”

Mike snaps out of his trance, blinking hard. Chester is staring at him in puzzlement and worry and Mike feels like turning into dust. “Did I zone out?”

“Not really. More like thinking too hard.” He feels flattered by Chester’s obvious show of concern. “Something on your mind?”

“I guess.” Mike’s eyelids flutter shut. He doesn’t know if this is a good idea but fuck it, he’s going to say it. Quietly, in case Brad overhears and freaks out. “Brad asked me to watch over his date with Joe.”

Chester cocks an eyebrow. “Like a stakeout?”

“Something like that.” Mike quickly adds, “Please don’t tell Joe. I’m just looking out for Brad. I’m not trying to sabotage the date or whatever.”

For a heart-palpitating moment, Mike is afraid Chester would whip his phone up and start texting Joe or something but the smile he sends him startles him. It’s warm and tender and he doesn’t know what to make of it.

“Dude, your secret’s safe with me. I get what you mean. Hell, I’d probably do it too if I were in your shoes.”

Mike releases the breath he doesn’t realised he had been holding. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

An elderly man with an abnormally large nose approaches the counter with a large dictionary in hand, putting their conversation on pause.

“Well,” Chester says as soon as the man turns to hobble out. “To be honest, I’d _love_ to tag along. It’d be interesting to see all of the drama unfold first hand.”

Mike’s stomach flips.

Did Chester say what he thinks he said? Did he actually say _that_?

Should he even ask? To actually invite him to spend the night with him?

Okay, that sounds weird and dirty but well.

But maybe Chester’s pulling his leg. Like what if he asks and Chester doesn’t accept the invitation? Sure, he’s been pretty flirty with Mike but that doesn’t mean he’d _actually_ spend time with him. And _sure_ , he’s hinted at wanting to speak to him outside of his pie-delivering duties. But it could just be nothing, just words. And that stung more than it should.

Because he doesn’t like Chester like that. Goddamn it, he’s not attracted to Chester the Pie Guy.

“Unfortunately thanks to my boss having a certain “date”, I need to cover his night shift.”

Mike almost lets out a bristled growl, his brain only registering Chester’s words. “Seriously? Nobody else can cover for you?”

Chester shakes his head. “Everybody else’s busy for some reason. Though I guess I can’t blame them. It’s Friday, I guess.”

“That’s true.” Mike hopes he doesn’t sound as disappointed as he really feels.

“Hey, you can always tell me everything tomorrow,” Chester says walking backwards, retreating out. “With actions and stuff. It’ll be cool and hilarious.”

Mike doesn't respond, admiring the soft sunlight enveloping Chester. In the light, he looks radiant. Like an angel. Without wings. Or something.

“Yeah,” he says distractedly. “It would be.”

“You got a crush.”

Mike blinks, brought back to reality. Chester is long gone, his sight replaced with a smirking Brad Delson He rolls his eyes, turning back to the reservation list he was reading previously. “No, I don’t. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

“Yes, you do. And no, I’m not.”

“It’s true,” pipes another elderly man  from the “Thriller” section. His nose doesn't leave the book it’s buried in. “You both were dancing around each other as blatantly as my Great Aunts Louise and Natalie back in the day.”

Brad shakes his hand, animatedly gesturing to the beaming elder like a mad man. “See what I mean?!”

Mike ignores the two men and his stupid tendency to flush easily, retreating to the “Children’s” section to reserve _The House At Pooh Corner_ for a customer.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

Brad and Joe end up not going to dinner. They go to the cinema instead.

Which is the place where Mike usually frequents on typical Fridays anyway. So it’s not a bad predicament. He doesn’t feel like dressing up and going to some fancy-schmancy restaurant anyway.

Even if there’s a really shitty movie playing in the cinema, Mike wouldn’t mind sitting through it. Even if he can’t get any proper enjoyment out of the movie, at least he could get some out of making fun of it.

Mike is unsurprised with the choice they make, a dumb and loud action flick that he’s sure he’s gonna forget the plot of tomorrow but oh well. As long as there’s a lot to make of, he’s good.

He’s also sure that the movie is horrendously bad, with the cheapest graphics and shittiest acting he’s seen in awhile. Mike could imagine the scenario if Chester’s here. He’d probably imitate the dialogue with glee. Heck, maybe be a little loud and everybody would chastise them by pelting them with popcorn.

But it’ll totally be worth it, just to see Chester smile and laugh.

Because it’s nice. Not because of...whatever.

But it’s hard to tell if there’s anything worse when he’s juggling watching the movie and keeping an eye on his best friend and said best friend’s ex.

Who are in the midst of a heated argument a few rows below him.

It’s difficult to make out if they actually are arguing no thanks to the large screen being the only source of light but judging by their leaning heads, and Brad’s wild gestures (he assumes it’s him due to his bird’s nest of a hair), they definitely are.

Mike buries his face in his hands. Should he do it? Should he march right over and deliver the hardest punch he could muster and rescue his best friend from certain danger?

But what if they’re just whispering about how shitty the movie is? Or maybe they’re trying to patch things up now.

Ugh, screw it.

Mike is about to rise from his seat and stomp over when he sees something he rather not want to see ever in his life.

It’s unmistakable. Even the shitty lighting can’t hide the fact that it’s happening.

Brad and Joe.

Making out.

In the cinema.

In front of everybody.

This is something Mike never thought he would ever witness in his life. And it’s something he could actually live without seeing.

At all. Anytime. Anywhere.

Ever.

He’s seen Brad kiss other people before. And he’s always been fine with that. But there’s something that unsettles Mike by watching Brad and Joe make out, a feeling he never had before. Maybe it’s the stories he’s heard of Joe, of the impact he had on Brad. It’s probably his sense of protectiveness.

But anyway, when the fuck did this start happening anyway? What the fuck is going on? How the fuck did this happen?

Maybe Brad is doing it against his will? Maybe they’re sharing some kiss as some form of closure?

Whatever the case, Mike knows he should put a stop to it before it gets out of hand. Before Brad gets hurt.

He yanks his phone out of his pocket, thankful that he’s seated all the way at the back without anybody around him. Sure enough, there’s a text from Brad. Sent three minutes ago.

_dude im ok now you can go. im really sure. will call if anything._

What the fucking hell? What the fuck is going on? He scrolls lower.

_dont worry_

Now it’s responses like these that worries Mike.

On one hand, Mike is tempted to text back with a “ _you sure?????_ ”, but judging by how furious their liplock is, he doubts Brad would be reading his messages any time soon. And Brad doesn’t sound like he’s forced to do it so. Heck, he seems so into it.

Maybe he is okay. Maybe Brad and Joe decide to try again.

So all he could do is pray that his friend has the decency to call him if things go downhill. Because he’ll be there with a baseball bat in hand, ready to go.

Because he’s Mike Shinoda and he’ll never let his best friend down.

But for now...

“I think I need a drink,” Mike declares to no one before escaping the cinema in search for the nearest general store.

 

 

 

 

 


	6. vi. saturday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's only gonna be one more chapter and possibly a short epilogue before this fic is finished. Thank you to everybody who took the time to read this!!!

 

 

 

 

 

Okay, so maybe it was two. Or three.

Or seven.

The point is, Mike should have avoided alcohol as a whole. He should've painted or blasted some Tupac as catharsis like he always does. Like a normal person.

But Mike Shinoda isn't a normal person. If he is, he wouldn't be stumbling around right now, not being able to see straight. And everybody wouldn't be staring at him and and oh god _somebody just end him right now._

Thank fucking god he doesn't work at the bookstore during the weekends.

He ducks into the nearest eatery, hoping it's not some automobile store like the last place he entered.

Unsurprisingly, Mike’s disaster of a hangover doesn't stop. He ends up tripping over his own foot as soon as he lumbers into the place. He manages to steady himself by holding onto a passing patron’s shoulder.

He should’ve gone to the hipster coffee shop a block away from his place. It would’ve saved him the trouble of getting weird stares. And he needn’t walked (or staggered more likely) four more blocks just to get coffee and food into his system.

But getting a plain black is five times more expensive than usual there and well, he’s never been to this place yet.

He thinks. Or maybe he has and his hangover is making him think otherwise.

And maybe he should've swallowed some painkillers before swinging by. His head is pounding, his vision blurred and he's most likely going to hurl soon.

Somebody end him now.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, ignoring the glare the man shoots him. Mike manages to heave himself onto the nearest stool before his head hits the counter.

The pain at the back of his head intensifies. He lets out a quiet moan, moving to cushion his throbbing head with his right arm. His glasses are probably crushed but he doesn't care at this point. Mike's particular of being seen in his glasses but he doesn't trust himself to not stab himself in the eye.

He feels the countless stares pointed at him and almost groans.

Apparently, he _could_ make a bigger fool out of himself than he already has.

Fuck his life.

Just as he is about to sink into the floor and die of embarrassment, a grating voice fills his ears.

"Coffee?"

Mike cringes at the voice. It’s too loud. Everything around him is too loud and it hurts his head. He doesn't even bother looking up to regard the server and waves a hand dismissively instead.

He could hear shuffling, a ceramic mug being set nearby and the sound of liquid being poured not long after. The familiar aroma of coffee fills his nostrils. The nausea fades a little.

"Rough night?"

"You could say that."

A brief silence seeps in, save for the surrounding bustle and clinking cutlery. If isn't because of the nicotine-scented air, he’d thought the server had left.

“Huh,” the server says. “Well, I suppose you’d want eggs and bacon. Greasy food is always good for getting over a hangover.”

For some people, probably. Mike Shinoda isn’t some.

As if on cue, his stomach lurches and the urge to heave is stronger than ever.

“Nononononono, nooooooo eggs and bacon. I'll throw up on you if you get me that," he says, finally lifting his head up. He’s hit by another wave of pain and his eyesight blurs. His head immediately finds solid surface again, solace. “Something not greasy. And gross.”

Mike is sure that the server must think him weird as fuck. “Okay then,” the server decides. “One key lime pie, coming right up.”

And then Mike’s left alone to deal with his pounding head.

He doesn't know how much time has passed but the server comes back not long later.

"One key lime pie and painkillers for the hungover customer."

Mike lifts his head, his eyes meeting a large slice of pie, topped with a hefty serving of whipped cream. Next to it is a small box.

"Ibuprofen?" Mike inquires, shifting his frown from the food to meet the server’s gaze as he palms the box. "You don't have to..."

Well fuck.

It’s Chester.

Chester. Pie Guy. The guy who walked into the store and messed Mike’s brain and life up.

Chester. In the flesh, dressed in a flour-covered apron with a softest smile so bright that could rival the sun’s.

Apparently Mike walked into the diner he works at without even realising it.

Could his day get any worse?

"It's fine. There’s lots of them lying around.” Mike would blame it on his hangover later but he swears that the most mischievous grin crosses the man’s face. “Yours truly is one of them.”

It’s undeniably an infectious grin and Mike couldn’t help but laugh in spite of his pain.

The server pulls the dishrag off his shoulder and begins wiping the area next to Mike. "By the way, nice glasses. You look really good in them. Despite the obvious hangover." He doesn't have time to blush, with Chester continuing to speak. "Surprised you didn't take any before coming by. I mean, no offense man but only a dumbass and a first-timer would do that. And I doubt you’re either."

Mike runs his hand through his mess of a hair. He probably looks like a homeless guy, having not bothered fixing it beforehand. "Well, I don't really drink much so I don't really have a reason to keep one around," he replies, which is the plain old truth.

“Hmm, I’ll keep that in mind.” Chester pushes his drooping glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “Let me guess, that hangover of yours has to do with a certain friend? A certain _stakeout_?”

Images of the previous night enters his brain and Mike lets out a loud groan, burying his face in his hands. He hasn’t even checked his messages, which is a shitty thing to do. For all he knows, Brad has bombarded him with countless of calls, begging to take him away. He makes a mental note to scan through them after taking the ibuprofen. "Please don’t mention it."

“Why?” Chester presses. “What did you see? Did they finally see eye to eye? Bury the hatchet? Put their differences aside? Come to an arrangement? I was gonna drill Joe’s ass about it this morning but he called in “sick” instead.” He lets out a loud snort. “Sick my ass.”

Mike makes another unidentifiable sound as a reply. It's too early in the morning to think or say stuff that would bring to mind such blasphemies. It’s already bad enough he has to face it all soon. For now, he just wants peace.

Chester sighs dramatically. “If I knew that hooking up our bosses would actually get you to show your face here, I would've done it sooner. Despite the hangover.”

Mike’s heart rate quickens, like it wants to burst out of his chest.

Why did he always have this reaction to his flirting? Why did Chester have to be such a nice guy?

“I–I've been meaning to come by!” Mike blurts out, cringing at how awkward the words sound leaving his lips. “I...well...didn't have the time! And uh…”

Chester lets out a quiet laugh. “Dude, I'm just teasing you. Don't worry about it. You're here now so it doesn't matter.” In a hushed tone, he adds, “If you’re not comfortable divulging, it’s cool. I’m not gonna force it outta you if you don’t want to.”

Truth to be told, Mike does want to share, and not because he promised. He wants to tell Chester of the shitty movie he had to sit through, and the impromptu makeout session.

But he also wants to tell him about how worried he was and still is for his best friend. He wants to tell him how ready he was to let his fists fly if anything goes wrong. He wants to tell him how much he would’ve liked Chester to be there with him that night.  

But it’s Saturday and he’s hungover and he has Chester all to himself. So why ruin it by speaking of other people and a horrible night?

“I do. But later. When I’m not feeling like my brain exploded.”

Chester opens his mouth to reply but a customer is waving his hand out. Mike never felt like strangling someone as much as he wants to riht now.

While Chester is busy working, Mike takes the opportunity to check on his friend. He swallows the pills before scrolling through his call history and messages.

No missed calls for him but there’s several messages sent by Brad.

_sorry bout that will explain tmr_

_off to dinner now_

_im ok_

_things are ok dont worry love you_

The last one was sent several minutes ago. That means Brad's okay.

Brad's okay. They're okay.

Mike thinks of smashed glass and howling screaming and has a sudden urge to cry. Instead, he texts a _ok. call me when you can. love you too._ and stabs his fork into his pie.

“Dude, what did the pie ever done to you?”

Chester plonks himself next to Mike, eyebrow raised. Mike shrugs, trying hard to ignore how little the space is between them. It’s much harder when Chester radiates nicotine and spices and it’s so intoxicating.

“Anyway,” he continues. “So, quick question. This is gonna some random as fuck but I’ve been thinking of a new pie flavour. Preferably something fruity. Do you have any ideas?”

Mike’s eyebrows furrow, fingering the frame of his glasses, one of his annoying habits. “Why ask me?”

Chester waves his hand in dismissal. “Don't worry, I'm gathering other people’s opinions. Trying to see if you got any good ideas.”

Mike racks his mind for any fruit but all he could draw out is debatably the most common fruit in dessert. Then again, he’s hungover and bias. So sue him.

“What about strawberries?”

Chester seem to consider this for a short while. “Strawberries? I haven’t actually used them in my pies yet. Even though they’re...pretty common.” He pauses before quickly adding, “Not that it’s a bad thing! Strawberries are...good. Like strawberries dipped in chocolate? Or sugar? Good shit right there, I’m telling you. They're fucking amazing. You get me?”

Mike chuckles, glad that he isn’t the stuttering mess this time around. Smooth and flirtatious Chester is hot. Fumbling and blushing Chester is endearing. Both are without a doubt attractive.

“Yeah, I get you. Probably not a good idea though. It’s my favourite fruit so I guess I’m biased.”

The bell at the door rings. A noisy family of four enters the diner.

“That’s not a…a bad thing,” Chester says, walking backwards towards the family. “Strawberries are pretty damn awesome. Like really, really awesome so if there’s a fruit to be biased over, it’s strawberries. Because they’re fucking awesome.”

Mike couldn't help but watch him walk away. His eyes trail down to the adorning and vibrant tattoos stretching Chester's arms.

Those fucking arms are going to be the end of him.

The key lime pie tastes way better than Mike gives it credit to be (but then again, it’s _Chester_ for fuck’s sake). Also, he feels a lot better after taking the pills so that's a big win. Mike makes a mental note to return when he's not hungover or drunk or under any influence.

And not because Chester, who keeps sneaking unreadable glances at him.

 _Definitely_ not at all.

It's just the pie. Just the pie.

He bangs his head on the countertop, letting out a soft groan. The lingering scent of nicotine continues to invade his nostrils.

Oh, who is he kidding?

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

“So Mike,” Chester says, half an hour later. “Have any plans on this lovely Saturday?”

Mike lifts his mug of coffee to his lips, the smoky roast scalding his tongue. Usually, his Saturday routine consists of grocery shopping and finishing up on commissions. But when he's free or lazy, he'd either visit the art store or sit on the edge of the pier, soaking up his favourite tunes.

But Mike doesn’t tell him any of this. Instead, he shrugs and says, “Not really. Do you? Or are you working the whole day?”

Chester shakes his head. “My shift ends at noon. Then I’m free to go. But I don’t have plans. Don’t know the place well enough yet. And none of the locals I know here bothered to show me around yet.”

The mental light bulb in Mike’s head switches on. It’s an open window, an opportunity to actually spend time with the guy. He could have Chester to himself, outside of the confines of pie and books.

“I could show you around.”

Chester rubs the back of his neck, his gaze pointed to the ground. “You sure? I don’t want to impose on you. Especially since–”

It’s a throwback to their first meeting - the hesitant way they acted around one another. Hell, everything feels surreal up to this point, how their relationship rapidly evolved.

“Ches, you said you needed a guide,” Mike points out. “I have time. Besides, didn’t you say you wanted to spend time together?”

Judging by his reaction, Chester looks at Mike as if another head sprung out from his neck. But this quickly disappears, replaced with another of his brilliant smiles. It never ceases to blind Mike. “If you’re sure, I’m game.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

They spend the rest of the day out and about.

Mike drags him to as many places as he can, to places he thinks Chester would like (hopefully). Places like a coffee shop hosting weird poetry slams and a hole-in-the-wall vinyl store. And despite his crappy morning, the rest of the day turns out to be one of the best he’s had in a long time.

His legs feel like jelly and his mouth a desert from walking and talking so much. But then, he sees Chester light up like Christmas lights at every single thing and he remembers why he’s doing this.

“Okay, this is going to sound fucking creepy,” Mike begins as they watch the sun set across the horizon. They’re now at Mike’s favourite spot in town – a quiet pier on one end of the town. People hardly frequent the spot, mostly due to the recently-opened fair on the other side of town. And that’s the way Mike likes it. “But I’ve been dying to know.”

Chester tosses another stone, watching it skip on the ocean’s surface before sinking. “Shoot.”

Disregarding any rationality, Mike inarticulately blurts out, “Can I see your tattoos? What's the story behind them? ...I mean, you don’t need to tell me if it’s personal or whatever but uh…”

The soft curve gracing Chester’s lips puts Mike somewhat puts him at ease. “Knew you’d ask soon. You’ve been drooling over my arms since the moment I stepped into the store.”

God why.

Mike buries his face in his hands. “Am I that obvious?”

Chester laughs. It's amused and not in a mocking way so Mike's sure he's safe for the moment. “Very obvious. But don’t worry. It’s flattering.”

Mike continues to splutter and Chester’s laughter continues. When Chester manages to gain his composure, he shows him.

All. Each and every one of them. Including the ones on his collar bone. And back.

Mike thinks he won’t forget them for a long time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chester insists to walk him home after dinner, Mike’s objections falling on deaf ears.

“I could walk home by myself, you know,” Mike says as they trudge down the corridor to his apartment. He won't be surprised if Chester is already sick of him sounding like a broken record. “Now you have to walk all the way back home yourself.”

“Dude, you spent the whole day hanging around me,” Chester dismisses airily. “The least I could do is walk you home. And I could walk home alone just fine.”

When they reach his doorstep, reluctance washes over Mike. He doesn’t want this day to end. Today has been incredible and surreal. He got to spend time around Chester, talking to him, laughing with him. And now, everything feels like a distant dream.

He doesn’t want him to go.

He likes Chester, hanging out with Chester, speaking to Chester. He wants to know everything and anything about him. He wants to know what makes him tick. He wants him in his life.

He doesn’t want him to go.

Well, he supposes he could let Chester inside. That way, they could talk more, and then...and then...

And then what? Would Chester see it as a sexual proposition? Heck, would he even accept? Not that Mike wants to have sex with Chester. Well, it would be nice and unexpected but that isn't the reason he wants him over. At all.

But even so, did Chester even like being around him at all?

He doesn't know. All he knows is that he doesn’t want him to go.

Mike is about to bid him goodbye or even rashly invite him in when Chester does the most unexpected thing.

It’s over before Mike could even register what had happened. His brain has fizzled out. All he could feel is the warm breath tickling his mouth and the nicotine filling his nostrils.

“Goodnight,” Chester murmurs against Mike’s lips, his brown orbs never leaving his.

For a very long moment, neither one of them make a move to leave or look away. Chester worries his bottom lip, flashing Mike a bashful smile. But then, it slowly morphs into a mixed expression of confusion and dejection.

 _Shit_ , Mike thinks. _He thinks he fucked up._

He didn't. Not at all.

Before a word could be uttered, Chester sprints away. Mike wants to chase after him, to rectify the situation, to say that he's a big idiot for not reacting.

He likes it. He really likes it.

But all Mike does is watch him leave, allowing his words and heart being taken without any form of protest.

Because he's Mike Shinoda and he's not short of an idiot.

Well...fuck.

 

 

 

 

 


	7. vii. sunday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...this update has been long overdue. I doubt anybody remembers this fic haha. Sorry for the late update! Anyway, this will be the last chapter of this story. I'll have the epilogue some time this week since it's pretty short. Thank you all for reading this :D

 

 

 

 

 

Normally, Mike spends his Sundays in his little apartment doing his chores, catching up on any unfinished commissions, or leisurely painting.

Being at home, he has room to breathe and actually devote all of his energy to himself. It’s his way of recharging his batteries, to recollect himself and begin again the day after. Mike makes sure to not think of all the problems in his life on Sunday. Because Sundays and being at home are devoted solely to himself.

But this Sunday, things are different. For the first time, he actually finished his chores in a spiffy, there aren't any commissions to complete at all, and his creative juices aren't flowing at the moment. And since he spent doing everything but getting his groceries yesterday, he needs to hustle down to get them.

And this is all thanks to the one problem he’s been having for the whole week – Chester. His Pie Guy.

Because he fucked up whatever that they might have, could have, should have.

All in a minute.

He fucked it all.

All because he was stony-faced after being kissed.

After being kissed by _Chester_  of all people.

Would Chester hate him now? Does he even like Mike in a romantic light? He could've been caught in the moment. Maybe Chester never planned on kissing him. And he ran off in embarrassment.

Or maybe it was all a stupid dream and Mike slept throughout the day before.

 _Ha_ , he snorts, carelessly tossing a large bag of _Oreos_ into the shopping trolley. _As if._

Whichever the case, Mike knows he’s utterly fucked. He only gets like this when he likes somebody more than he should. And as much as he would like to rebuke it, he knows that’s the hard truth.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

He calls Brad when he gets home, eager to check whether he's still breathing and the outcomes of the date (“It went fine,” he admits but Mike knows better, fuck, he _witnessed_ some of that shit). Mike's problems apparently are so evident that Brad notices them.

“Dude, I'm fine,” Mike insists for the hundredth time, shoving his newly-purchased tub of ice-cream into the freezer. “I'm just sorta regretting getting chocolate chip mint ice-cream. Maybe should’ve stuck to vanilla or strawberry instead.”

“Uh huh,” Brad answers, sounding unconvinced. “But–”

Mike gets to his feet, deciding to pace around. “Anyway, you didn’t you say you wanted to tell me something? Is it Joe? Is he acting like a fucking asshole? Did he force himself on you? Did–”

“Mike, fucking chill. Things has been great. I–” Brad breaks into fits of giggles, before saying something inaudible. Mike has a hunch as to who he’s talking to. Hell, it’s not even a hunch because it’s true.

“Brad, if he’s giving you a handjob right now, I’m hanging up.”

“No, I’m not– Ugh, fuck off Mike.”

“Hey, you’re the one who called. I’ll gladly fuck right off.”

Brad scoffs. “Hey, if you don’t wanna grab dinner at my place, go ahead and hang up.”

Mike stops short, eyebrows knitted. Brad has never invited him over for dinner. Well, they end up ordering pizza or Chinese while he’s over for movies and video games. But never just for dinner.

Not forgetting the main point is that Brad is an _abysmal_ cook.

_Could he be… Nah. Can’t be._

Because Brad knows how much Mike despises Joe (hint: it’s an endless pit). So he wouldn’t invite him over when Joe’s around, right?

 _Right_?

“Just the two of us?”

“Yeah man,” Brad answers smoothly. “I just rented  _Deadpool_. Thought you’d want to watch it together.”

“But I’ve seen it before.”

“But not with my colourful and insightful commentary.”

Mike lets out a loud snort because that's a lie. Brad always ends up snoring halfway through the first act. “Ugh, fine. Sure.”

 _Anything to get yesterday out of my head_ , are the words he doesn’t include.

And yes, there is Chester in his head again. Chester and his tattoos. Chester and his smile. Chester and his laugh.

Chester and his kiss.

_Fuck. I’d rather face ten Hahns than think of yesterday._

“Great!” Brad exclaims, sounding oddly ecstatic for a normal get-together. “See you at six then!”

The line goes dead before Mike could return the goodbyes. He blinks, peering down at his phone.

The wonders of getting Brad Delson laid.

And because dinner is in the evening and he has just finished putting away his purchases, Mike spends the rest of his spare time wandering aimlessly his apartment in a daze, replaying yesterday’s events _again_.

And that kiss.

Especially the goddamn kiss.

“Fuck,” he passionately whispers before proceeding to bang his head against the wall.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Before making his way over to Brad’s, Mike detours towards the nearest general store to buy several cans of beer because _god, he needs to get drunk_ _._

Maybe the alcohol would help him loosen up. Maybe he'll be drunk enough to tell Brad about yesterday and how much he wants to slap himself and punch himself and fling himself off the Empire State Building.

Let his feelings out. Yeah, excellent idea.

But before that, dinner. And a movie. And beer.

And maybe everything negative and stupid being put at the back of his mind.

It is why when he comes face-to-face with _him_ , his brain short circuits.

Now Mike is not a violent person. If there’s any form of conflict, his typical tactic is to be calm and polite. Diplomacy. No amount of flying fists and shedding of blood would solve any kind of problem, in his opinion.

That’s why he makes sure he sets the beer aside before launching himself at him.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

  

“Have I ever mentioned how much of an idiot you are?” Brad states as he presses the ice pack into Mike’s hands.

“Hey, I have every reason to haul his ass,” Mike defends himself, jabbing his finger at Joe who sits opposite of him.

Joe scowls, poking a finger at his bruising cheek like an idiot. He winces because that's what happens when you touch your bruises. “I didn’t even say a word yet."

“Can’t help that you have a punchable face.”

Brad pins Mike with a stern look. “Behave.”

He rolls his eyes in reply. “Yes, mother.” A hiss slips out of Mike's lips as he presses the chilly packet to his bruised cheek. His fist throbs and he dabs the packet on it too. It’s a wonder that he didn’t break his hand. He should’ve taken the karate lessons his father asked him to take when he was a kid. “He hit me.”

“Yeah, but you hit me first. What was I supposed to do?”

Mike sinks deeper into Brad’s armchair. “Uh, be the bigger person, that’s what.”

“Mike!” Brad chastises.

Mike switches his glare onto his best friend. “Hey, you lied to me. Thought you said it’s just the two of us.”

Brad exhales deeply. “Well, I figured that if I told you Joe would be here, you wouldn’t want to come.”

“You’re damn right I wouldn’t.”

Joe sighs heavily. “Can I at least have the chance to explain myself? Then you can punch me again if you think I deserve it.”

Unsurprisingly, Mike doesn’t want to hear it because he knows they’re all lies. But for the sake of his best friend who’s looking at him like his dog just died, he relents.

After minutes of listening to Joe spew out some bullshit and several more for Mike to digest them, he finally speaks his mind.

“So let me get this straight,” Mike recalls. “You broke up with Brad because you were afraid that your relationship wouldn’t last a long-distance relationship. And you were too big of a coward to tell him this so you just dumped his ass without thinking straight and properly?” A sudden rush courses through his veins. He thinks it’s anger. “What the _fuck_ , man?! Couldn’t you have the decency to–?”

“I was afraid!” Joe interrupts him, guilt written all over his face. “I wasn’t…” He picks at the lint off his shirt, looking despondent. “I was stupid. I was young and stupid and scared and I underestimated him. I underestimated myself, our...love. I didn’t…” He lifts his head towards Brad. “I’m sorry. I should’ve… I should’ve tried harder.”

Brad’s expression softens. “I know.”

Mike eyes the both of them in turn. He’s never seen them both together (well, he’s never met Joe in person anyway). It's a little unsettling, the nonverbal messages they send to each other with just a simple glance. Messages of regret, anger, shame.

Love.

It’s amazing and terrifying that time doesn’t change some people. He doesn’t know whether that’s a good thing or otherwise. Especially since Brad has easily fallen back into Joe's arms.

“I don't like this,” he finds himself saying, cutting off their moment.

Brad gazes at him hopefully. It’s been a while since Mike has seen hope on Brad. He forgot how well he looks in it. “You gotta trust me.”

Trust. Right. As if he could trust Brad with _Joe_ of all people.

As much as Mike wants to play the protective parent, he doesn’t have much say in this in the end. It’s still Brad’s choice. He’s an adult. From what Mike has gathered over the years, there wasn’t any toxicity in their relationship that could warrant him to ring sirens.

But now that Joe is in the flesh, Mike could actually check on that. Plus, if Joe fucks up, he could always come to him for an ass-kicking. Or try to anyway.

Besides, it would be hypocritical of him to disapprove of the relationship. He was the one who urged Brad to connect with Joe after all. Not that he thought they'd end up fucking again.

But still.

“You,” Mike growls at Joe. “If you fuck this up again–”

Much to Joe’s visible relief and Mike’s dismay, the doorbell rings, intruding on Mike’s threat.

“That must be the pizza guy,” Brad says, sounding cheerful all of a sudden. “Say Mike, why don’t you get the door while I fix Joe up?”

“What? Joe doesn’t even have any–”

Before Mike could finish his sentence, Brad had hoisted Joe to his feet and they had scurried away towards Brad’s bathroom.

 _Figures_ , Mike thinks, pushing the ice pack harder against his cheek. _They'd have a quickie and leave the house guest to get the door._

The doorbell sounds again.

“I’m coming!” Mike calls, striding over to the door to get this over with. Brad owes him twenty bucks or whatever the price the pizzas are worth.

But unfortunately, he doesn’t have to. Because it’s not a pizza delivery guy.

It’s Chester.

Fucking Chester the Pie Guy with a pie carrier.

Mike almost faints at the spot.

What is _he_ doing here?

This smells like Brad's idea, maybe even Joe’s. There's no fucking way that this is a coincidence, that Chester is here to deliver pie to _Brad and Joe_ of all people.

Judging by Chester’s bug-eyed stare, he’s as shocked as he is.

“Mike?” Chester exclaims. “Wh–? What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” Mike cries in retaliation. “What are _you_ doing here?”

Chester dangles the pie carrier in front of him. “Joe told me to bring him some pie over. I didn’t think– Well, I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Me neither. I mean, that you’d be here and not that I’d be here because that is _totally_ dumb and...uh…”

And there he goes again, making a fool out of himself. Classic Shinoda.

But Chester is grinning at him so he’s fucked.

"Wait," Chester says, eyes gliding over to his bruised cheek. "What happened? Are you okay?" He reaches out, brushing his palm against Mike. He almost recoils in response.

"Lost story," he replies lamely because Chester doesn't need to know that he tried beating up his friend. He basks in Chester’s feathery touch instead.

"Jesus, this is not okay. Why–?"

A hand grips Mike’s shoulder and he almost delivers an uppercut to his potential assailant out of fright. He’s disappointed that he doesn’t because it’s Joe since what he would _give_ to uppercut him. It’s a bigger sin since Chester withdraws his hand too.

“Ooh, thanks for the pie, Chessy,” Joe says, snatching the pie carrier from Chester’s hands. “I’m starving.”

And then he’s gone and seriously what Mike would give to toss that man off a cliff.

“So,” Chester starts after a brief pause. “Does this mean I’m invited to the dinner or…?”

Mike snaps his attention back to the man before him. He's giving him a wounded look just like last night and _ugh this is not happening, this is not happening at all._

Now Chester thinks Mike hates him. Just great.

Just  _fucking_ great.

“Yes, you are!” Brad calls from somewhere behind them. “Mikey, stop blocking the way and let him in.”

Oh. Right.

Mike forces a smile onto his lips (it’s most likely close to a grimace) and steps aside to let Chester in. His Pie Guy flashes him a quick smile of his own before hustling over to Joe who’s marveling at the pies. Mike doesn’t blame him.

Since dinner doesn't seem to be happening anytime soon, Mike takes the opportunity to haul Brad’s ass..

“You didn’t mention Chester,” Mike hisses into his ear.

Brad feigns surprise, smirking. “Oh, did I? Whoops.”

“I’m gonna whoop your ass.”

“You won’t,” Brad responds confidently. “Because you love it.”

Mike does. But not in the way people would think he does.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

  

The dinner’s a little too awkward for Mike’s tastes. It's mostly because Chester and him keep accidentally catching each other's eye and Brad and Joe are being all "lovey-dovey" with one another.

The only upside to all this are the pies – shrimp quiche as the main course and walnut pie for dessert – which are to _die_ for _._ Mike swears that he’ll won’t be able to fit into his jeans next week if he keeps this up.

But it’s Chester and Mike finds it difficult to resist anything Chester apparently.

“I’m gonna take off now,” Mike announces after the last of the dishes are squeaky clean. The sooner he gets out of this love den (and not witness any exchange of spit), the better. “I need my beauty sleep.”

“Me too!” Chester chimes in, delighting and disappointed Mike simultaneously. “I’m dead tired, man.”

Joe makes a shooing gesture, not looking up from Brad’s face as he wipes the last plate. It’s a bad idea to do both at the same time because distractions and kitchen hazards. “Sure, sure. Have fun, kids.”

“Hey!” Chester hollers before closing the front door behind him. “Use protection!”

Mike couldn’t help but cackle, forgetting that he’s in Chester’s presence momentarily. He catches him breaking into his own snickers. Their eyes meet in the midst of it and the laughter dies down, creating an awkward atmosphere.

They don’t make a move for the next couple of seconds until Chester offers to keep him company on his journey home. Mike agrees before his mouth could decline for him.

The silence continues throughout their walk home. It’s uncomfortable and weird and Mike wants to just straight up tell him what’s on his mind, that he fucked up and Chester is a great guy and yesterday wasn’t his fault. It was Mike’s.

Though Chester doesn't seem to mind as he swings his pie carrier next to him. It's only when they're at Mike's doorstep does his relaxed demeanor dissipates.

“Well,” he says, regarding him with a tight smile. He turns away, seeming eager to leave Mike's presence. It crushes his heart a little. “Goodnight.”

 _No_ ,Mike determines mentally. _Not this time._

Since Mike is known for his grace and charm, he does the most Mike-like thing he could think of at the moment.

He grabs Chester by the shoulders, spinning him around before smashing their lips together.

Their teeth clash harshly and their mouths don’t align. It’s a little uncomfortable. Chester lets out a surprised squeak. He must've been taken aback because Mike hears a loud clatter, possibly the pie carrier slipping from Chester's grasp.

But the initial shock only lasts for a short second. An arm snakes itself around Mike's waist, pulling him closer. He feels Chester pull away for a split second, only to fit their lips against each other properly.

That’s better. That’s _way_ better.

Mike hears somebody make an inhumane voice, like a dying cat. He's positive that it's him. His left hand drifts up to rest itself against Chester's neck. 

He doesn’t know how long they stood there locking lips (and fuck, did Chester just slipped in some _tongue_?). It must've been a while because he’s breathless when he pulls away. Chester stares at him in bewilderment, trying to catch his own breath.

“I like you,” Mike says as a way of explanation. “A lot. More than I should actually.”

Chester nods, looking dazed. “Yeah. Same.”

Mike bats his eyelashes, his heart stopping.

Chester likes him.

Chester Bennington fucking likeshim. _In a romantic way._

This is a dream, isn’t it? This can’t be real. Chester the Pie Guy shouldn’t be professing his attraction towards Mike the Dumbass. It doesn’t make sense.

“No, it’s not a dream. It’s real,” Chester says. “And you’re not a dumbass and that’s a cute nickname. I love it. I really do. "Chester the Pie Guy." I hope that sticks.”

Mike feels his face heats up again.

He should’ve made himself a grave. That way, he could fall into it and never climb out again.

Being close to Chester is close enough.

“I’m sorry about yesterday. I just… I– Well–” Mike stops himself because he’s embarrassing himself further. “I’m rambling again, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” Chester agrees, a broad grin spreading across his face. He cups Mike’s uninjured cheek. The touch sends shivers down Mike’s spine. “That’s one of the reasons why I like you.”

He closes the distance between them before Mike could protest. That's how they shared their second kiss of the night.

 

 

 

 

 


	8. viii. monday (epilogue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we have come to the end of this little fic! Thank you to each and every one of you who have left kudos, bookmarked or left a comment. You guys are the best! :D

 

 

 

 

 

It’s a new week. Which means it’s Mike’s turn to grab coffee.

Since it's his turn, he makes sure to stop by at his typical spot, a quiet hipster cafe a couple blocks away. He doesn’t give a shit about Brad’s horrible opinion. Starbucks sucks.

Then again, he could be bias. Mike always preferred his coffee smoky than sour.

Just like Chester’s lips.

As soon as that thought pops up in his mind, he crushes it.

Because he really doesn’t know what to do when Chester comes by. Sure they kissed and he kind of admitted his feelings (that are mutual which still blows his mind) to him. But that doesn’t have to mean anything right?

Would he pretend the kisses they shared never happened? Would he laugh it off and blame it on being caught in the moment?

Would he even stop by?

After all, Brad and Joe reconciled. That’s no need for Chester to come by and deliver any apologies in the form of pie or letters. And anyway, why would Chester come over on his own accord?

 _Of course he would_ , the rational part of his brain reasons. _He likes you, you fucking dolt._

 _Ugh_ , the emotional side counters. _We’ll see._

Mike receives his answer as soon as he nudges the front door open with his foot, interrupting a conversation between Chester and Brad. Mike almost drops the drinks in his hands.

The smile Chester shoots him is gentle. “Hey.”

From the corner of his eyes, Mike could see Brad shake his head as he steps into the back office. Though he swears his idiot of a best friend’s grinning himself.

“Um, hey,” Mike starts, cringing at how choked his voice sounds to his ears. He gestures to the paper bag resting on the counter as he sets the coffees on its surface. “Another delivery?”

A short laugh escapes Chester’s lips. “Yeah. Sorta. Kinda.” He plucks the bag in his hands and gingerly holds out the paper bag in front of him. As soon as the scent hits his nostrils, Mike knows what's inside.

“Word on the street is that strawberry pie is one of the best pie flavours around,” Chester begins, grinning widely at him. Mike swears he’s died and gone to heaven. “So I thought, hey, why not try my hand at it?”

Something warm spreads through the inside of his chest. Mike can’t put his finger on what it is. Maybe it's flattery that Chester is the one delivering pie to him. Maybe it's that Chester took some random idea Mike spewed out hungover and made it real.

Regardless, he thinks it’s a start.

“From what I've read, it usually comes with whipped cream,” Chester rambles on. "But obviously, the whipped cream would get squashed in the paper bag so I ended up forgoing the whole thing. Really sorry about that. I-”

Mike places a finger to his lips, Chester falters, their eyes meeting. He lets out a soft exhale, tickling Mike's finger with his warm breath.

“Thank you,” Mike says quietly, prying the bag off Chester’s fingers and placing it next to the drinks. "That's really sweet of you."

Chester nods animatedly. “Uh yeah. You're welcome. I hope you like it. ‘Cause new flavour and shit.”

“I’m sure I will,” Mike assures him. “I like everything you put out.”

They don’t speak for a moment. Mike is torn between kissing the worry off Chester’s face and shoving the pie in his mouth just to make Chester feel better.

All of a sudden, Brad hollers from inside his office, “Are you guys making out yet?!” The two men jump, startled. “Please don’t do in the front! I don't need customers firing complaints about PDA to me.”

“Fuck off, Delson! You're one to talk! You made out with Joe at the movies,” Mike yells in return, prying a snigger from Chester. A swell of pride runs through his veins.

“Hey, that was in the dark!”

"It's still PDA!"

"Oh, bite me!"

Mike shakes his head. Predictable of Brad Delson to resort to childish insults when he's running out of steam.

Chester laughs again. “You know,” he says, amused. “You never actually told me how the kiss was.”

“Which kiss?”

Chester shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know. Any of the kisses? All of them?”

Mike tilts his head to the side, giving it a thought. “Does it matter?”

“Nope. But it’ll boost my ego.”

Mike rolls his eyes. “It was nice.”

Chester cocks an eyebrow, displeased. “ _Just_ nice?”

“Well..." Mike says, a Cheshire grin spreading across his lips. "For starters, you tasted like a chimney.”

“Hey!” Chester exclaims. “I do not–”

He never gets to finish his sentence. Mike interrupts him by yanking his T-shirt collar and pulling him into a bruising kiss. Chester’s arms promptly wrap themselves around his waist.

He tastes of coffee, of mint, of nicotine. On paper, it's a weird combination. But the mix knocks Mike’s socks off and sends him into euphoria.

Yup, definitely a chimney.

“Hey, wanna watch a movie later?” Chester asks after they break apart. There's a goofy grin plastered on his face. Mike thinks he's doing the same thing. “I heard the new  _Thor_ is amazing. Then we could grab dinner or supper or do whatever you wanna do after.”

“Sure,” Mike responses immediately, his heart almost bursting out of his chest. “But I have to be back by ten.”

Chester smirks, a playful glint in his dark eyes. “I don't think we'd have a problem in that department.”

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
